


Captivated

by cutglasscaress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Captivity, Dark John, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutglasscaress/pseuds/cutglasscaress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>He allows none of his triumph to show, but still he reminds his human to correctly phrase the wish before the matter is settled.  Words are binding, and he cannot afford to leave loopholes.</p>
<p>“Oh, for Christ’s sake!  Fine, please take me to Mr Donohue.”</p>
<p>The grin that splits his face reveals too much of his true nature, but then he has no need for disguises now.</p>
<p>“Your wish is my command.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I have a genie kink, obviously. Can’t leave the buggers alone. 
> 
> Also, not mine, don’t own, like to use and abuse (don’t we all)...

He is called, he comes. This is the way of things now, though he vividly and longingly remembers another age when his power was unshackled, and still yearns for it with a fierce hunger.

The man he meets has unwittingly brought him forth, but whether accidentally or on purpose makes little difference in the end. They are all moulded from the same base substance, they all desire the same things. He introduces himself, and waits for the surprise, the disbelief, the demands for proof, and then the awed tentative questions, the creeping confidence, the selfish requests. He has seen it all a thousand times (and that is no exaggeration). He thinks he is prepared for all of them, but he is delighted to experience surprise.

“Where is Mr Donahue?”

“Excuse me?”

The man eyes him narrowly. “You promised me you would fulfil three wishes of mine.”

It takes him a couple of seconds (really, an eternity for him) to make sense of this situation.

“I’m sorry, are you actually using one of your wishes to ascertain the whereabouts of Mr Donahue?”

The roll of the man’s eyes should be answer enough, but he graciously adds verbal confirmation. “Yes, _obviously_.”

For the first time in a long while he subtly unleashes his powers to explore this creature, to taste his essence. And the revelations delight him. The unusual, the unique, would always be a cause for celebration in the stultifying sameness of his existence, and this man before him is something to be treasured. Wild excitement bubbles up unexpectedly, thrilling him with its forgotten pleasure, but he lets none of it show. He must tread carefully.

He is confident dropping the unassuming mask he normally wears, indeed he revels in this small freedom. He does not want it with this man, and it would prove a hindrance here. He needs a quite different lure. His smile is not what most humans would find reassuring.

“I could show you, take you there.”

There is a knowing look on the other’s face, a pleased acknowledgement that the disguise is removed, and that he will be met with more honest deceit.

“And then trap me like you trapped him, no doubt? Hardly.”

“You’d still have two wishes left.”

“I take it he also had three wishes.”

“I granted his three wishes.”

The man gives him a long searching look, but his acute powers of observation are wasted on such as himself. This is an instance where the subject is unreadable, where he cannot deduce. The frustration is apparent and _so_ very welcome. The man might just take the risk. His penchant for danger and reckless curiosity, which he can hardly hide in this most unusual situation, should be enough to tip the balance. But it is a delicate business, and even he cannot gauge where the scales will fall. His own excitement (and when has he last felt that?) is no doubt clouding his judgement.

“Just tell me where he is. I have no need to go there.” And he can taste the lie.

“Don’t you? Any answer I give will leave you unsatisfied. And with one less wish.”

Another searching look, another silence. He feels the moment take shape, the tipping of the man’s life into his hands.

An irritated impatient huff. “Fine, let’s get on with it.”

He allows none of his triumph to show, but still he reminds his human to correctly phrase the wish before the matter is settled. Words are binding, and he cannot afford to leave loopholes.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Fine, _please_ take me to Mr Donohue.”

The grin that splits his face reveals too much of his true nature, but then he has no need for disguises now.

“Your wish is my command.”

One flash of shock, and one of savage exultation, then the nauseous distortion of the fabric of reality, a stretching and contraction. The man shuts his eyes tightly with a grimace of pain, and mercifully blacks out.

 

*****************

 

He wakes his human with a gentle touch. His magic is strong in his own domain. He can do almost anything here, except escape. He can have almost anything, except what he really wants. But still, there are consolations, occasionally. He is stroking the curly locks of his latest right now.

“Hello, Sherlock. Welcome to my world.”

The detective blinks, then becomes aware of the hand softly threading through his hair and scowls at the offending limb. The genie chuckles (it is not a pleasant or jolly sound), and carries on stroking him. Sherlock huffs irritably and swats the hand away. He sits up to take in his surroundings, then his eyes inexorably are drawn back to the being before him.

“I can see you have questions.”

“We can start with the initial one which you still haven’t answered. I take it you brought Mr Donahue here, so where is he?”

The genie smiles, if you can call it that. He knows this conveys the answer as clearly or better than words can, but still he likes verbal interaction, and they will be spending a long time together, after all.

“Mr Donahue made some questionable choices in his life, and was, shall we say, unwise in his wishes. Some very dangerous people were after him towards the end.”

“Let me guess. He used his last wish to escape them, but was somewhat, as you say, unwise in his wish, and ended up here.” A pause. “He is dead, isn’t he?”

“I can show him to you, but I would counsel against it. He was not a very nice man, and the manner of his death reflected that.”

“So, what? You entice people into your... wherever this is, and then kill them? Is this how you relieve your boredom? Dull.”

Oddly, an unexpected warmth appears for the first time on the genie’s face, and it is genuine. Boredom is indeed a heavy weight on his immortality, and he knows that at least here there is a connection with his human. He has in the past forgotten mortal desires and needs, and the results have been ... unfortunate. He will try harder this time. This one is worth trying for.

“Admittedly, I have tricked some to their deaths, though all those deserved it. But that will never be your fate. You will be my treasured companion, untouched by time in this domain.”

“So what happened to those other _treasured companions_ you doubtless tricked into coming here? If they were anything like me, they went mad with boredom after a few days.”

There is a not-so-subtle lasciviousness to the genie’s voice. He has, after all, delved into Sherlock’s mind, and he knows that sexually he is of the preferred gender and fortuitously also the preferred type. He can also vary his appearance to suit any taste. And his knowledge of what will suit is extensive.

“I think I could keep you entertained for quite a while.”

The blush is unexpected as are the genuine stirrings of his own desire. He gives silent thanks to whichever power has brought him this man, caused him to reach out to the abandoned artefact in the course of his investigations. Luckily the detective works alone, and the lamp was secreted in a very obscure and thankfully almost inaccessible place (though not for his clever mortal). No one is likely to interrupt his idyll.

The man rallies. “Really? That’s the other way to relieve your boredom? I rest my case.” The evident scorn would be a little more convincing if the blush were not still in evidence.

While his mind is entertaining the many scenarios to coax that colour back into those cheeks, the man continues.

“I have a proposition. You are bored, obviously, and will continue to be so. The only temporary relief is reluctant pets who soon pass away.”

And as the genie is about to comment – “Don’t deny it. They are all dead, aren’t they? Either by their own hands, or yours. And then you have to start all over again. Tedious.”

The eye contact is intense, blazing quicksilver to fathomless blue. “Break the pattern. Live your life, a real life! Come back with me. I could do with a flatmate.”

The genie breaks into giggles, genuine humour (another novel experience), delighted about the effect this mortal is having on him.

“What? Is that really not preferable to the existence you have now? What _do_ you actually have here that you would wish to stay?”

Well, that is indeed a sobering thought, and the laughter subsides suddenly. It’s hardly the first or millionth time he has thought of it, but somehow right now it seems more urgent, more unbearable. He knows (a knowledge gained through much experience) that companions cannot last, their minds cannot encompass unending unalterable life, at least not in the confines of his world. Some stayed longer than others, but in the end he was alone again.

He still recollects all of them, his memory at times inconveniently perfect. He remembers the one he released back into the world, so many centuries before. He had grown fond of him in a way he had not thought possible in light of his nature. And because of that affection, he had let him go. And now, as he looks upon this other dark beauty he sees the possibility of that pattern repeating.

Survival has meant learning patience and endurance, not traits his kind are naturally endowed with. But he is weary of mere survival. None of these arguments are new, and he does not like to dwell on them for there is no ideal solution. Escape is not impossible, but the price is heavy, and there are risks. The one who imprisoned him and his kind after their defeat was clever. Genies could perhaps trick humans into granting them freedom, offering them unlimited wishes, but that would seal their own doom. Freedom came with its own curse, to lose their power and magic, and any human thus cheated would likely be quick to violence.

He had not been ready hundreds of years ago to give up his shackled power, even for him, and he had since known regret. And now the very air is charged with potential.

His companion is watching him closely, keenly aware that his words have cracked open a secret door.

“I will think on it.”

That must be enough for now, and frustrated though he is not to have an immediate answer, Sherlock desists on that score. But there is another question to be asked.

“You told me I had another two wishes. What stops me from wishing myself free?”

“Ah, well, while in the mortal world I must abide by the dictates of my imprisonment. However your wish has brought you into my world, and, as your saying goes, my house, my rules. However, you still have your wishes, they are merely on hold.”

He takes a little savage delight watching the play of frustration on his companion’s beautiful face, before summoning a sumptuous meal for the both of them. Sherlock sulkily flops onto the floor cushions and pays no heed to the feast. The genie is not offended. Pleasures of the flesh come in many forms and later he will entice his dark beauty with other more enjoyable activities. He may be more in the mood for sustenance after that.

 

***************

 

“John, stop that and get me some coffee.”

The genie has been lazily stroking the little dip at the base of Sherlock’s spine, still slightly slippery with rose oil, and so deliciously positioned before the sensuous swell of his buttocks. His lover is sprawled inelegantly on the bed, yet he manages to appear utterly sensual in his disarray. He sighs. He wants to do so much, but humans just lack his stamina.

Although he cannot complain too much on the overall results. He must admit to having cheated somewhat in his conquest, adding a little extra power and glamour here and there to charm and seduce. Well, he is a genie, he is not going to apologise for that. After all, they both enjoyed those little extras. And he particularly enjoyed the knowing look Sherlock gave him, which made it pretty clear he was aware of the manipulation but graciously allowed it. There are many delicious things he has graciously allowed.

He conjures Sherlock’s favourite coffee with barely a conscious thought, together with those foods he knows his lover will not ask for but is likely to be tempted into eating. The man needs nourishment, and he knows how to be tempting.

He does not mind the sobriquet. He never gives out his real name, and anyway it is practically impossible to pronounce. It’s close enough to ‘genie’ to give it familiarity, and he enjoys the juxtaposition of such an ordinary name to such as himself.

“Have you decided?”

It has become their little waking ritual, this morning query. And yes, he has already decided. He knows Sherlock, knows he will not attempt to cheat him and wriggle out of his obligation to free him once outside his realm. He just wants to enjoy him a little longer on his home turf, with all its attendant luxuries which will, after all, very soon cease to exist. Once freed, there is literally no going back. After such a long time, it feels almost impossible to grasp the notion that he will no longer be a slave to the whims of others, that he will be the author of his own uncertain future. He is both thrilled and fearful at the prospect, and excited by experiencing such feelings at all. A strange new life awaits him with his strange new lover.

“Not yet, my love. But soon. Ask me again tomorrow.”

 

 


End file.
